Why must I forever lose,
forever forgo profit that is my due,
Sunk in the gloom of evenings past,
no plans for the morrow pursue.
Why must I all attentive be to the nightingales lament,
am I as dumb as a flower?
Must I remain silent?
My theme makes me bold,
makes my tongue more eloquent,
Dust fills my mouth,
against Allah I make complaint.
We won renown for submitting to Your willand it is so;
We speak out now,
we are compelled to repeat our tale of woe.
We are like the silent lute whose chords are full of voice;
When grief wells up to our lips,
we have no choice.
We are Your faithful servants,
for a while with us bear,
It is in our nature to always praise You,
a small plaint also hear.
That Your Presence was primal from the…
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